


Distant Connection

by abovethesmokestacks



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Based on a Tumblr Post, Drabble Series, F/M, from ao3commentoftheday, mentions of other marvel characters - Freeform, no powers, quarantine fic, social distancing, social distancing video calling coworkers to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23428504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovethesmokestacks/pseuds/abovethesmokestacks
Summary: You happen to be in the office when the email is sent out, you get Trip from IT to help you set up the VPN you need to be able to access company systems from home, you rifle through all of your folders and then just dump all of them in a box. It’s a surreal feeling because you are essentially cleaning out your office. As if you’re losing your job. This will be fine. You send an email to your project collaborator, someone named Barnes, suggesting a first video conference call on Monday before you log off.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 101
Kudos: 112





	1. This Is Fine

**Author's Note:**

> I am currently social distancing by working from home, and seeing the post from ao3commentoftheday on tumblr kicked my brain into gear, and yeah. I am coping vicariously through this fic. Even though my husband is also working from home. But a girl can dream, right? Also, a girl can use a lot of things from her employer's social distancing guidelines, and the behaviour of the cat that is not her cat.
> 
> Fic updates Tuesdays and Thursdays over on my tumblr, and I'll try to update here on the same night.

_To: SHIELD Inc (all)  
_

_From: Nick Fury_

_Re: Company quarantine_

_As most of you have probably seen and heard from the news, we too are facing the threat of covid-19. As such, management has made the decision to enact social distancing protocols. This means our offices will lock down, and all staff that can work from home will do so. Our IT dept will help anyone who needs assistance in setting up their laptop so they can work from home. If anyone needs to come by the offices to pick up equipment, documents or the like, please contact your supervisor to agree on a time. Attached you will find the complete guidelines for how we will work during this emergency. We don’t know for how long this will last, but we will strive towards going about business as usual, with extra team meetings set up, these will be input in your calendars. Questions can be directed towards me, Maria Hill from HR or your supervisors. Be safe, people. Let’s get through this._

_Regards,_

_Nick Fury_

_CEO SHIELD Inc_

So. This is fine. The world is just a raging dumpster fire, but this is fine. You have a major project you are about to start working on with someone from one of SHIELD’s other offices, and now you need to do that over, what, fucking Zoom? Skype? A fucking endless email chain? You skim through the guidelines and you can’t help the slightly hysterical laugh that escapes you, because. What. The. Fuck. Is this happening, really?

You happen to be in the office when the email is sent out, you get Trip from IT to help you set up the VPN you need to be able to access company systems from home, you rifle through all of your folders and then just dump all of them in a box. It’s a surreal feeling because you are essentially cleaning out your office. As if you’re losing your job. This will be fine. You send an email to your project collaborator, someone named Barnes, suggesting a first video conference call on Monday before you log off.

This is fine.

You drink a lot of wine over the weekend, check the systems, sleep in, put out work appropriate clothes on Sunday evening. It’s still a work day. You’re a civilized human being. This will be fine.

Barnes’ voice crackles through seconds before your screen flickers and his… chest comes into view.

“Think you need to adjust your camera, bud,” you tell him, then panicking and checking your own camera to make sure you’re not giving him a weird boob shot.

 _“Shit, sorry, I’m- -damn thing.”_ More flickering and finally, his face comes into view. 

Well. Yikes. A handsome face looks back at you, hair neatly swept back, eyes blue enough that even a shitty laptop webcam makes their colour come through perfectly. 

“Hi, James. I suppose we’ve sort of dealt with the introductions, huh?”

_“Yeah, I… I guess so. Or, well… If we’re gonna be working on this for the foreseeable future, you can maybe call me Bucky?”_

Bucky. Okay. That’s… Nickname basis from day one. That’s okay. It’s fine. Stay professional. This is important. You shuffle around a few papers, share a document and off you go. Work like any other day. Your slacks chafe against your waist, your chair sucks. You sign off after two hours, stand up, stretch, pop the button on your slacks, panic again when you’re gripped by the fear that you didn’t turn off your camera. It’s off. Okay. This is fine. You can work with Barnes. This is fine. You’re gonna need to figure something out about the chair. And the slacks.

Tuesday.

_“Ugh, sorry, can we- Keep talking, okay, I need to stretch, my back is killing me.”_

Wednesday.

“Oh, Jesus!

_“What? What happened?”_

“Goddamn car backfired down the street.”

_“Oh. That- Coulda been worse, right?”_

Thursday.

“Hi, Ba-”

There’s a cat butt on your screen. A great, big furry cat butt.

_“Alpine! Off the desk, now! Off! Jesus Christ, I can’t take you anywhere! I’m so sorry, I was getting a coffee and had the call window up, he must’ve snuck in and gotten to the button to open the call. He is apparently ready to take over the world, opposable thumbs be damned.”_

You can’t help but smile, wide and earnest, for the first time all week. 

“You have a cat?”

_“I have a monster, but sure. Had ‘im for about… two years now? No manners. Do you have any pets? Or… kids?”_

“No on both accounts. Just me kicking around in this shoebox.”

_“Okay. I’m sharing a place with a coupla roommates, but we're all working from home now, and we're all in our rooms, so pretty much in a shoebox here, too.”_

The connection flakes a little, freezing the image on him with a small smile. Yeah, okay, he’s cute. But this is work. Get a grip, damn it.

This is fine.


	2. Introvert Olympics

_“…so, I guess that’s something we need to take into account when we get to present budget issues.”_

It’s day ten, new week, same face that looks from you to something on his screen or scribbles in a notebook. It’s… surprisingly easy. Even better because you haven’t been greeted by a furry butt since Alpine decided to make an appearance. James- Bucky, he said to call him Bucky and even though you haven’t it still applies - is a good collaborator. If that’s because you’re both stuck at home and trying to do the best out of a crappy situation and thus maybe having a little more patience with each other, is hard to say. But he’s knowledgeable, has a few years of project work under his belt and is happy to both take and give advice. 

It could be worse.

A ding sounds through the connection, J- Bucky picking up his phone and rolling his neck.

_“Alright, time for a break. I can call you back in fifteen minutes.”_

“Oh.” Why does that all of a sudden sting a little? Like he can’t wait to get rid of you. Maybe you’ve misjudged just how well the two of you mesh. “Okay. Sure.”

 _“Unless… you want to… stick around and have coffee together? Or tea? Coffee? I don’t know, do you drink either?”_ Bucky flounders, and how is it possible for him to sound so unsure all of a sudden?

“Both, actually, but I might actually go for tea. Caffeine makes me, you know, energized, and I can’t exactly run a marathon in here to get rid of the energy so I can sleep at night.”

Bucky snorts and nods, _“I hear ya. So, um, gimme five minutes to get myself coffee? And maybe feed the monster?”_

It’s kind of nice. Apart from the fact that the only tea you have home is the one you bought by mistake that tastes of grass, and you can tell Bucky tries not to laugh as you keep grimacing at your mug. It’s easy. There’s not really much talking, not between you at least. One of Bucky’s room mates ducks in and asks something off-screen, you think you hear Alpine meowing when Bucky goes to put away his mug. It’s a good little pocket of calm before you’re back in work mode.

The next day, he doesn’t ask. Just keeps the feed going. Coffee, terrible tea, minding each other’s business. Alpine makes an appearance on Wednesday, apparently patting at Bucky’s leg for attention and he lifts the cat onto his lap.

“He looks used to that.”

 _“Oh, he is spoiled, absolutely. He claimed this chair when I brought it home over the weekend before we started, and looked so betrayed on Monday morning when I wouldn’t let him nap in it,”_ he laughs, scratching under Alpine’s chin and the cat stretches his head up until he almost loses balance. _“He’s good though. Keeps me sane. And drives me insane. But mostly the first one.”_

You take a sip, grimace. Fuck, this is becoming unbearable, you need actual tea and not this… torture. “I wonder how everyone else is coping. God, I would pay to be a fly on the wall of the guy who had the office next to mine. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was scaling the walls on day two.”

_“Yeah, one of the guys I live with is struggling a bit. He’s not good with working alone. I mean, he can do stuff on his own, he doesn’t need someone to hold his hand, but he’s struggling outside of the whole work environment with other people around?”_

“I mean, I miss everyone, too. Kinda. I mean, they’re fun to work with. But I gotta say, this isn’t horrible? Like, having to work from home, obviously. The reason behind it is though.”

There’s a sage nod from the other end of the screen, Bucky taking a sip from his mug, and ugh, maybe you should give in and just have coffee. _“I know. I was a little nervous about how I’d cope, but it’s been fine. Being a little introverted helps. Like, finally something I’m good at, just sitting at home, working quietly, not talking to anyone for a majority of the day. Well, anyone but you.”_

His eyes bulge the second the words leave his mouth and he almost knocks over his mug. It’s almos a little cute. _“Shit. That sounded wrong. It’s- I’m- This is good. I mean, working with you and talking with you and seeing you. Shit. What I’m saying is-”_ His mouth is left agape as he struggles to work his way out of the hole he’s digging himself into, while Alpine paws at him and looks highly annoed, and you laugh again, loud and pealing, and Bucky mock-glares at you.

_“I’m gonna shut up now.”_

“Please, don’t. This is the most fun I’ve had all week,” you say between fits of laughter. “And if it’s any consolation, I’m the same. I don’t mind this. Although between the two of us, I’m clearly a little more hardcore because I live alone.”

_“What, we’re doing introvert Olympics now?”_

“I might be. I think you’d be disqualified because first off you have room mates, and second, you also have a cat.”

Bucky’s face scrunches up in a smile, _“Okay, fair. But I still spend a majority of my time alone, and the monster is not nearly as helpful as you’d think.”_

“We’ll be fine when this ends.” You’re not sure where that comes from, but it seems the right thing to say. You have no idea for how long this lockdown will go on. Social distancing until further notice, Fury’s weekly update had read on Monday.

Maybe it is introvert Olympics after all. You look around your apartment, and for the first time, its size and its silence feels just a little unnerving.


	3. Business As Casual

You don't mean for it to happen. Every goddamn site that even pretends to fall under news reporting is touting out the same tips for how to crack social distancing. Maintain structure. Keep your routines. Set your alarm the same time you would normally. Have breakfast. Dress for work. 

And let it be clear.

You did.

For a while.

But the damn slacks chafed against your waist and the jeans were so warm and slinking into a pencil skirt would just bring on double chafing. There was only so much you could take. This was a new, weird situation to be in, surely there was wiggle room on some things?

So, you compromised.

Still business above the waist because there are the video conferences with Bucky. Nice cardigans and button-ups and blazers and shirts. All classy and work appropriate. But instead of suffering through pants that chafed and fit too snug for a whole day of sitting down, you now feel infinitely more comfortable in sweats or yoga pants. You draw the line at pajama pants. You’re a civilized human being working for one of the biggest companies in New York City, pajama pants were not work appropriate, not even in this situation. Retain a sense of normalcy. 

For now. 

Bucky…

Well.

It takes a while for you to notice. First of all, it’s not like you’re checking him out every time he pops up on your screen (but by now you would know those blue eyes anywhere), but second of all, it happens so slowly. It’s crisp button-downs that become less crisp button-downs that become button-downs of unknown crispness under dress sweaters, then straight up sweaters and one sunny afternoon a truly glorious maroon t-shirt that makes it very hard to tear your eyes from the screen. It’s all fine, you’re doing this new version of business casual, it’s okay, but then-

“Bucky, are you wearing pajamas?”

Poor guy looks like a deer caught in headlights, looking down at the t-shirt he’s wearing with a very faded print of Mickey Mouse. _“I… might be?”_ There’s a sigh and his face scrunches up before he hides it in his hands. _“I hate all of my work clothes and this was so comfy. I’m sorry. It’s unprofessional, I’ll change into something else.”_

Shit. You didn’t mean to make him feel bad, and god, the more you look at him, the more he looks like he just rolled out of bed. The hair that had been coiffed and neat just two weeks ago is now a messy tangle that curls gently at the ends, falling against his forehead, and when he drags his hands away from his face you notice the shadow of a stubble, and… it’s not really that bad. You’ve let up on your clothes. You get it. Slacks and jeans are the devil, and Bucky is pretty much the only one you have regular face to face contact with, so maybe…

“Hang on.”

You turn off your camera, rifling for your pajama, a cosy number with a fluffy sleep shirt and a soft pair of flannel pants. You eye the door to your closet, slightly ajar. What the hell. On with the ridiculous fluffy socks your friends gave you for your birthday last year. 

Bucky’s eyes bulge a little when you turn the camera back on, decked out in your own pajama, before he breaks into a smile, _“Wow. That looks comfortable. Hell, it looks more comfortable than my own. What’s on the shirt- Is that an owl?”_

“Hey, hey! Focus, Barnes!” you chide him jokingly, adjusting the angle of your laptop to pan the camera up to where you’re visible from the shoulders up. “Just because we’re business casual extraordinaire does not mean we get to slack off. Did you get the numbers you requested last week yet?”

And so the day goes on. A few breaks when you both need to handle incoming issues that require temporarily signing off to make calls to co-workers, but otherwise amicably working as if you weren’t sitting at home in your respective pajamas. It’s… nice. Relaxed, like you’ve both put down your guard.

_“Hey,”_ Bucky says just as you’re about to call it a day. _“Listen, I really didn’t mean to make… you know, this,”_ he gestures at his pajama shirt, _“a whole thing. I was out of good shirts and I kinda overslept. Which is ridiculous because my bed is literally three feet to my left.”_

“It’s okay. Was kinda nice, you know. Like Casual Friday. Only Thursday. And casual casual casual casual,” you shoot back with a smile, your heart doing a little somersault of a beat when he grins back.

_“So maybe we can make that a thing? Like a weekly thing? Casual Casual Casual Casual Thursday?”_

It’s ridiculous. You’re professionals. You purse your lips around a laugh.

“Sure, Buck. That sounds nice.”


	4. Jeremy Bearimy

“Why are you wearing pajamas, Buck?

It’s a spectacular thing, you can’t deny that; you can clearly see the head of a cartoon llama with its eyes closed emblazoned on the teal shirt. It’s almost ridiculous enough that you’d consider getting it for yourself if given the choice.

Bucky furrows his brow, looking down at the shirt, _“I think the better question is why aren’t you wearing pajamas?”_

“Because it’s Tuesday?” you reply, cocking your head. “We said Casual Quarted Thursday… right?”

_“What? Whaddaya mean it’s only Tuesday?”_ Bucky frantically rifles around his desk, finally finding his phone and groaning loudly at the screen, shuffling in his chair. _“It’s Tuesday? What the f- how did this happen? How is it Tuesday?”_

“It generally happens when Monday ends.” You roll your shoulders, grimacing at the obvious tension and reach for your bottle of water. Grocery shopping, you remind yourself. Supporting local businesses and not just postmating every damn meal.

_“Funny,”_ comes the answer and he pulls a face that scrunches up his nose in a way that’s… ugh, _“but I’m more pondering how the hell, pardon my French, it’s only Tuesday. I swear to god, this week already feels eighteen days long. Are we sure we switched months by the way? Because I feel like March went on forever, dumping complete bullshit on us, and now it’s hiding behind a corner and is getting ready to jump out and tell me it’s still fucking March.”_

You get out of your chair, stretching your hands above your head and standing up on your tippy toes, “Sounds like someone has a lot of feelings about March.” 

Your joints pop, and it takes all you have not to sigh from the satisfaction. On the screen, Bucky sighs and hangs his head.

_“Sorry, I’m ranting. March was supposed to be good, y’know. I was supposed to transfer to the New York office from where I am in Indiana, had a place lined up, had plans to go on a trip later this year as a belated birthday celebration with my family. Then March happened. Landlord I was dealing with pulled back the offer when more and more confirmed cases popped up, the transfer was put on hold and my birthday was me ordering takeout and making a very shitty box cake. Everything is upside down, and now I have apparently lost all track of time.”_

“It’s Jeremy Bearimy,” you blurt out, bending down to touch your fingertips to your toes, your voice straining a little.

_“It’s what now?”_

You hold up a finger, tear out a paper and hastily scratch down Jeremy Bearimy in messy cursive and hold it up to the screen, grinning from ear to ear.

“Okay, there’s this show called _The Good Place_ , and it’s about people in the afterlife. At one point, a… person tries to explain time to them and he says time in the afterlife is not linear, it moves the way Jeremy Bearimy looks written in cursive. Stuff happens before stuff happens before. And the dot in Bearimy is Tuesdays. And July. Also apparently never.”

_“I’m trying to understand and I absolutely don’t. Are we in the afterlife?”_

You pull down the paper to find Bucky squinting at you, brows drawn together and a line forming between them.

“No. But time moves weird right now. We’re home, we work, but we’re still at home, we exercise, but we’re still at home, we watch movies but we’re still at home. It’s Jeremy Bearimy. We just happen to be in the dot now. Apparently. I think. Just watch the show.”

_“I… think I really have to now,”_ Bucky says, still looking confused.

“Come on, Barnes. Up and off your chair. Stretch and do a coupla jumping jacks, get some blood flowing to that noggin’a yours.”

It’s not technically a break. You do discuss business while you loosen up. It’s not a perfect system, Bucky has to ask you to repeat something three times while you’re stretching out your back doing downward dog off screen, and you break down into fits of giggles when he’s trying to explain a potential client approach through thirty jumping jacks. There’s also Alpine, again, who apparently decides that if Bucky’s not giving back the chair, then Bucky will have to do because you’re both doing your thing during a five minute honest to god break when Bucky shrieks and there’s the distant sound of an indignant hiss and the unmistakable sound of a hasty cat retreat.

_“He came in, jumped onto my back and started kneading me! While I was planking!”_

“To be fair, you were planking, and that requires some form of punishment. No one planks just because it’s fun,” you tell him with a laugh.

Bucky’s head pops up on screen, looking mock-put out and in the lower end of the screen you can see his hand where he’s clutching at his chest, _“Attacked, on all sides! Don’t look at me like that!”_

“Like what?”

_“No! Sorry, it’s Alpine. No, you’re not getting treats!”_

The one sided argument goes on for two more minutes before there’s an indignant meow and Bucky disappears out of view before returning, hair rumpled and a smile on his face. It’s hard not to smile at him, at the way his nose scrunches up before smoothing out and he falls back into business-mode, taking you with him. It makes a strange feeling simmer inside of you, your smile tremulous when you wave goodbye at the end of the day. Is it weird to be excited for tomorrow just because he’ll be on the other end of the screen?


	5. Toilet Paper Confessionals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry this chapter is late. Work was a bit of a clusterfuck yesterday, and this completely slipped my mind. I'll do better and make sure tonights chapter is also crossposted here tonight.

_“You mind if we wrap up like ten minutes early today?”_

The question comes right at the end of another break aerobics session. Or, well, yoga. Bucky, you find out, is almost weirdly limber. Not that you had watched. A lot. 

“Um, sure? I can finish up whatever we’re working on then alone. What’s up?”

Bucky pulls a face, _“Grocery run. We’re trying to do big hauls now and shop smart so we won’t have to run to the bodega five times a week because we just realized we’re out of fucking hot sauce.”_

You halt your movements, pen frozen just above your notepad, “Hot sauce? People are out there hoarding toilet paper, hand sanitizer and canned food, but you guys… can’t survive without hot sauce?”

_“It’s a thing. Mostly it’s Gabe and Junior’s thing, but it’s grown on me. Everything gets better with hot sauce,”_ Bucky explains with a wry little smile. _“And come on, don’t tell me you’re not hoarding something no one else is.”_

“Okay, I swear I’m not deflecting, but Junior? You have a roomie named Junior?”

He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. _“It’s a nickname. But would you believe he’d rather be called Junior than Jonathan?”_

Almost immediately, there’s a muffled voice hollering loud enough to carry through the closed door to Bucky’s room, _“Are you talking shit about me, Jimmy?”_

_“Literally no one calls me Jimmy, Jonathan!”_ Bucky calls back, a teasing emphasis on his roomie’s name, and is that a blush creeping up on his cheek?

_“Yeah, like literally no one calls me Jonathan!”_

Bucky’s face lights up with laughter, nose scrunching up and you’re sure you have to be melting, have to be swooning because it’s so sweet and so nice to see this side of him. Sure, the two of you have gotten more comfortable with each other during these past couple of weeks, more so than if you would have been working on this project at the office. But this… this is a part of his life that you’ve only ever heard of but never seen or experienced. He is Bucky in this moment, but a more private version. He’s a guy who gets lost in an inside joke and teases his friends and laughs like he’s not in the middle of a thing with a co-worker. You kinda wanna know that guy, too.

_“Sorry about that. He’s a good guy. Bit of an asshole sometimes, but a good guy.”_ Bucky’s voice brings you out of your little daydream, and if you flinch, then he doesn’t seem to notice. _“So what was that about you hoarding stuff?”_

“I never said I was hoarding!” you protest, holding up a finger.

_“Yeah, but you are buying something in semi-bulk, am I right? Am I right?”_

You let out a mock-exasperated breath, leaning back in your chair. God, you miss your office chair. You miss your tiny office. You even miss the shitty view and the way you’d hear Tony talking at breakneck speed from down the corridor.

“I’m not saying I’m hoarding. But I want to be prepared. So maybe… I have… a coupla pints of ice cream in my freezer.”

Bucky breaks down into laughter again, his whole face crinkling up. _“And you’re judging me for hot sauce? Oh, man, we are the worst preppers in the world. God damn it, hot sauce and ice cream, that’s the hill we’ll die on?”_

“I mean, at least we’ll die happy and full of something we like?”

_“True that.”_

You think the discussion is done with that. And sure, for a while it is. You go back to your project, to running numbers and making spreadsheets and discussing client costs, and when Bucky waves goodbye, it’s with a smile and a teasing jab about buying ice cream. You wrap up what you were working on, shutting down your laptop and getting up with a little grumble and a lot of joint popping. There are leftovers and half-empty takeout boxes in your fridge, but not really anything substantial. Maybe you should do a proper grocery run, too?

You walk around, finding a bodega that is reasonably empty but still well-stocked. You try to shop with purpose. Non-perishables, produce, thinking of dishes you can prepare that won’t take too long, be too complicated and that will last you a couple of days each.

In the pasta aisle, your phone pings, alerting you to a whatsapp message. It’s Bucky. A selfie where his face is only half in the picture while the main focus seems to be on a guy dramatically kneeling in front of an empty shelf.

_> >We were too late. Someone else is hoarding hot sauce. Gabe, as you can see, is taking it well._

You had exchanged numbers early on, just in case all other tech would give up. There’s never been any need to use the phone, not for professional reasons at least. Bucky texting you… makes the world seem a little more normal. Texting each other dumb, sweet stuff. Smiling, you find the condiment section, snapping a picture of yourself with all the available hot sauces clearly visible.

_> >Oh, what a shame, what a shame poor Gabe isn’t here._

_> >Was that a P!ATD reference?_

_> >Maybe?_

There’s no immediate reply, so you carry on, wandering the little bodega trying to figure out if there’s anything else you need. Your phone only pings again when you’re waiting in line. Bucky, doing a cheesy pose and pointing at the length of freezers filled with ice cream

_> >Lying on the ice cream freezers is the most fun a guy can have for unprovoked hot sauce taunting though not during a pandemic because that is unhygienic_

_> >by Panic at the Trader Joe’s_

You can’t contain the laugh, making the cashier stare.

_> >Oh my god you are such a dork_

_> >It’s why you like me, right?_

Oh. Like him.

You… like him. Bucky.

That’s.

_Oh._


	6. Netflix And I Have No Chill

It becomes a thing after that. Weirdly enough, the work part of your days gets more efficient. The two of you work diligently, a quick chat in the morning before you get started, working down the list of things you have to get done during the day, you stay on for lunch, comparing dishes and listening to Alpine insisting loudly that part of Bucky’s dinner absolutely belongs to him. Break yoga, coffee runs, and one instance of getting to say hi to Bucky’s roommates when they come to check on him during a break, plus one instance of a department zoom meeting when you know that the both of you are absolutely wearing pajamas under the blazers you both hastily put on. Still. It’s professional.

After work…

You have a whatsapp chat. A video line on Marco Polo. Inside jokes and goodnights that have your fingers trembling a little every night because they feel like more for you. Even so, you swallow down the little flicker of hope in your chest. You work together, same project. Of course you talk to each other, you have to. These are not normal circumstances. It’s… It’s the times. Infatuation in the time of corona. It wouldn’t happen if things were, well, normal.

And that little flicker that refuses to be tamped down whispers: Exactly.

_“Hey, so, I started watching that series,”_ Bucky says one afternoon, five minutes left before the work day is over. _“The Jeremy Bearimy-one. The Good Place.”_

You can feel your eyebrows raise. The Jeremy Bearimy-discussion was… wait, how many days ago? Weeks? It’s been a while, at least.

“Yeah? Did you like it?”

_“I mean… There were shrimp? It’s like a toddler was allowed to put together an episode. Flying shrimp and Ariana Grande? Is that the whole show?”_

“I promise it’s not. It’s whacky sometimes but it’s really good. If you can look past the shrimp, I swear, it’ll blow your mind. I was actually doing a rewatch before all of this happened,” you tell him with a wry smile.

_“Really? ‘S gotta be good if you’re rewatching.”_

And there’s the little smile he does, the one that you have realized seems to have a direct line to your brain, and more importantly, to the master switch of your brain because this comes out of your mouth:

“It is. Maybe we could watch an episode together?”

Fuck.

Fuckshitdamnandhell.

Fuck the virus, you are ready to fling yourself out the window and run away and never look-

_“Sure. Lemme fix dinner after this and we can watch an episode.”_

Oh.

So that’s. Okay.

You watch three episodes of The Good Place, Bucky vows to start using all the redacted swears instead of actual swears while you try to figure out what the hell your heart and mind are trying to do and almost failing at eating risotto. There are times when you’ll look at the little window with his screen and find he’s looking at you and you drop a forkful of rice on your shirt and cuss under your breath. It’s fine. It’s these times. It’s a one off.

_“Wanna watch a movie tonight?”_

Two weeks later, and you try not to look actively surprised.

_“Your choice, since you’ve indulged me in The Good Place for so many episodes.”_

“Um. Sure. That… that sounds great.”

_“I’ll have the place to myself so I can even make use of the tv.”_

“I thought you guys had pretty strict shelter in place-orders, too? Are Junior and Gabe about to pull a heist?”

That makes the smile vanish from his face. _“No, they… Gabe went home to his family after we got the shelter in place-orders. His folks are older, figured they’d need help. And Junior’s… One of his grandparents passed, so he’ll be home for at least a week, maybe more.”_

It’s more reality than you’ve been faced with since this all started. The death tolls and the harsh reality of it has seemed so far away even though you’re right in the middle of a hot zone. 

“Shit, I- I’m so sorry.”

_“It sucks. This whole thing sucks,”_ Bucky says, and then the screen wobbles when he lifts the laptop and walks out of his room. _“I wanna be angry, but I don’t know if I have anything to be angry about. Cancelled plans and working from the comfort of my home, it’s… How can I be angry when I’m doing okay?”_

The screen stills, you’ve landed in the kitchen.

“It’s… a lot,” you offer, taking your own laptop. “You notice things. How quiet it is. How you… work in new situations. But… I think it’s okay to grieve. To feel sorry for lost things and cancelled plans.”

Bucky stops rifling through a cabinet, shoulders slumping, his voice a little thicker when he speaks again. Another side of him that you already cherish. The two of you talk and reminisce through dinner making, where you argue over the best way to make nachos. Worrying about his parents, you talking about a colleague in one of the European offices that got sick early on and how panicked you felt. Cancelled plans where you find out you had both considered going to the same festival. Picking a movie, curling down under covers and feeling like something, someone is missing. More talking, still under the blankets, until well past midnight when you agree to turn in. Bucky, hesitating before he sighs, looks right at you and says:

_“I’m really glad I have you, y’know.”_

And there are so many words right on the tip of your tongue, words that have burrowed themselves into your heart and tonight you wish more than ever that you could make them come out, but-

It’s the times. It’s distance and the severity suddenly coming too close and there’s the project and maybe he doesn’t mean it like that. You want to say so much, but what comes out is this:

“Yeah. Me, too, Buck.”


	7. Social Dumbassing

_“I feel bad for making you watch all this sappy crap. Why don’t you pick a movie tonight?”_

Bucky wants to say he doesn’t mind sappy. That he spends most movies sneaking glances at the way your face lights up, and sometimes he couldn’t tell you what the movie had been about altogether. That he enjoys sappy movies because, well, you enjoy them.

_“Wow, it’s been… almost four months.”_

He has learned to live with a lot of things. Like the fact that it’s okay to wake up and have to check his phone to be sure of the date and weekday. How much he really enjoys curries even though his own attempt at making one ended in disaster and how it’s a safer bet to order it from the nice Indian restaurant a couple of blocks away. But four months. Absurd. Time is weird, and he is not sure if time has moved slow or fast, but it has moved, swirled around and tossed him into a vortex with you at the center.

_“It’s weird, right?_

Nod.

_“I’m not sure I’m entirely ready to let go of this, but I mean… We’ve done our part? Do you wanna do the honors of sending it over to May?_ ”

What he wants to do is accidentally delete the entire project. Start over. Have life be Casual Quarted Thursdays and Netflix and kind for just a while longer. 

_“Bucky?”_

Right. Project. Finished.

“Um, yeah. Sure. I can… I can send it. I’ll send it. To May.”

It’s stupid. This is not optimal. But you smile and he smiles and he melts and why is the world the way it is? Then again, this was coming. Sooner or later the two of you would finish this. It’s fine. Bucky sends off the project, takes his lunch break alone, really alone, and feels like a dumbass.

_> >I swear I’m not hoarding, but they were on sale._

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_> >Normally I go for Vermont’s finest, but damn, Bluebell knows what’s up_

_> >Hope you’re doing okay over there_

“Yeah,” he wants to say, “Dandy. Missing the hell out of you even though we haven’t met in person, but oh yeah, dandy.”

_> >I’m good. Junior’s back, so quiet nights are over. Think we’ll actually be out of this in a month like they’re saying?_

It’s a little more than that. As soon as it’s confirmed, Bucky dives into the spin cycle that is supposedly normal life and tries to make it work. HR contacts him about reinitiating his transfer. He hunts for apartments, video chats with eleven dubious landlords and/or roommates before he accepts a room in a shared apartment in Brooklyn Heights. Steve seems like a good guy, reasonable on the rent and can take him in stat. Well. Two weeks.

_“Hi, sorry I haven’t, y’know, it’s just- things are crazy. Again. But different. God, okay. Just… wanted to say hi, hope you’re okay. Maybe we could watch a movie this weekend?”_

“Hi, it’s okay, things are weird here, too. Uh… I don’t think I can do a movie this weekend, kinda… have a big thing happening. I’ll be mostly offline, but I’ll text you Sunday?”

_“Oh? Big thing? That sounds… big. Sorry. I promised you to lay off the innuendos. But this was accidental. Have fun. Or be safe. Whatever you’re doing. Be fun, have safe?”_

Bucky packs himself up, takes Friday off and spends his last official day working for the Indianapolis-office in his bare room with his laptop on the little side table they usually keep by the door, and a rickety chair. The drive is murder and parking in NYC is a nightmare, but he’s in and mostly unpacked by Sunday.

_> >Welp, going back to the office tomorrow. Is this what work appropriate looks like? I need to look presentable for society_

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_> >Aw, shucks, and here I thought this was what passed as work appropriate_

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_> >I’ll pay you money for you to film your reaction going into the office tomorrow in the llama pajama_

On the one hand… tempting.

On the other hand… He does not want to get on HR’s shit list his first day in the new office.

_> >Goodnight_

He hovers. Wants to type sweetheart. Writes it out, deletes it.

_> >Goodnight. Have a good day at the office._

It is a good day. Hill from HR meets him in the lobby, shows him his office, takes him around. Does he look for you? Maybe. But Hill doesn’t need to know that. Fury dips into his office after lunch, giving him the finger wiggle that says “walk and talk”. He can’t be in trouble already, right?

“May sent me feedback on your project, it was good work, Barnes, both of you. She did however have a few concerns that she wanted to discuss…”

Bucky hears concerns and the rest is drowned out as he mentally goes over every point in the project and where things could have fucked up. Fury’s still talking. Shit.

“… so I thought the two of you could meet with May and look over it together.”

“What?

“Bucky?”

_“What?”_

It’s a good day. Fury looks between you, then backs away like he can’t nope out fast enough. You’re- It’s-

“Hi.”

He can’t stop looking, can’t make himself talk. There’s the smile and the voice and the outfit and he’s not in the llama pajama. His fingers twitch.

“Bucky?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Sorry, I’m- Hi. I… really wanna touch you, is that- Shit. Not like that. Shake hands, I mean. Like civilized people. Is that a thing we do again?”

Hold out your hand, Barnes. Don’t be a dumbass.

“You’re in New York?” comes the question, you’re still rooted to your spot.

“It was… my big thing this weekend? I wanted to tell you, but… busy.”

One step closer, a nod. “Moving does that.” 

He knows that tone so well by now. Knows it, basks in it, because yes, you’re here, but all of the other stuff is also here. Bucky looks down, tries to find a way to say it that doesn’t make him sound like a schmuck and he swears he can feel his brain shut down.

“Can I..?”

You’re standing there, reaching for him, and he falls into your embrace and it’s right and good and the world shifting on its axis and hot sauce and ice cream. Maybe talking can happen later. There’s a meeting. May. She’s-

“I’m really glad I have you, Bucky,” you whisper against his neck.

And God. It’s good. It’s perfect.

“Yeah. Me, too.”


End file.
